Desire
by Zayz
Summary: LJ. "When you two touched, the electricity made the hairs on everyone’s necks stand like soldiers, something intangible but so intensely there that it was chilling, preternatural. And when you two kissed in secret, that single time two weeks ago..." R&R?


A/N: I have a fetish for second person. I just read a really amazing story by corny sloth, one of my favorite authors on this site. I'm supposed to be doing my math homework but I'm not because my parents aren't home to yell at me.

There were a variety of reasons why this came into existence. You can take your pick. But here you go, here's something that just hit me and asked me to write it down despite it being totally messed up.

Takes place seventh year. It doesn't make much sense to me, but I don't know, sometimes you wonder if it'll mean something to someone else. I had an idea, but I think it got lost en route.

I will probably end up taking this off the site soon, but for now while it's here, try to enjoy it and be gentle when you critique me.

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Desire.

It's a word; a pretty one too, in your opinion.

Desire.

It rolls off the tongue. It's everywhere. You see it everyday.

Couples snogging in the corridors. Young women lusting after young men and vice versa. Looks with stirring potency flashed across a classroom for one person, only one person, who will understand it in a way no one else could.

It's always there, that general and sometimes intangible idea of desire.

You yourself desire things, sometimes people. You've had your fair share of boyfriends in your time here at Hogwarts. But perhaps the desire was the concept that ended up destroying those relationships.

Desire is simply a want. It doesn't promise need, or even pure love. It's just that, a desire, a craving, like for chocolate but a little different. Desire is fine, not a bad thing to have at all, but it fades. You know that now. It's the reason why you're alone tonight.

When you think of desire, you think about the obvious things, like how it sounds and what it means to you; but after that, you think of something else. Or, specifically, some_one_ else.

You think of James Potter.

He's always represented the deeper meaning of the word desire to you. He desired you when the two of you were young and stupid and he made sure the whole damn world knew about it. He did all the things boys do when they desire a girl, and you did all the things that reluctant girl would do back, but there was always something different about this boy James Potter.

Many boys desired you. They did the same sorts of things, though a lesser degree. But Potter was entirely different.

He embodies desire. He _is _desire. Everybody wants Potter; everybody wants Potter to look at them and make them bristle with his static intensity. Everybody wants to hear him talk with that grit, that edge, to his voice and that mad gleam in his eyes.

Everybody wants him, and he only wants you.

Oh, how much he wants you.

It's so obvious, even to you, when you create those sparks with him in class or out of it, that there is something about the two of you and how much he wants you that is stronger than logic and it can't be ignored.

When you two fought, the whole world went up in smoke and ashes.

When you two screamed, it tolled around in the thickest of waves, reaching to the far corners of the earth.

When you two touched, the electricity made the hairs on everyone's necks stand like soldiers, something intangible but so intensely there that it was chilling, preternatural.

And when you two kissed in secret, that single time two weeks ago when he told you to meet him on the top of the Astronomy Tower at midnight and you did, the dead came back to life for the night.

He desires you. There's no question about it. It's just that he spooks you and your whole world undulates in colors and shapes you don't know when your eyes lock together like they do.

You're never going to be a traditional couple, snogging and lusting and whispering sweet things that will die away with the next tide. You doubt you will ever be a couple at all, because you can't see how two people so the same with too much friction can finally find a balance they agree on.

But you do know one thing.

He desires you and one day, his desires will be clear to you. Whatever he feels alongside that desire will shine through instead of confusing you, a jumble of mixed telephone wires untangled at last, and the rest of your old boyfriends who couldn't mean anything to you won't be important any longer.

He is desire.

But in a way, so are you.

Something will happen. Life will change.

But that desire, that look of pure truth in his hazel eyes, will always be there in you, changing the word and the rules behind it until your head spins and the sky collapses around all that you know, the end of the world but the start of another.


End file.
